


These arms of mine

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Cormoran has big strong arms, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre Relationship, everything feels better in Strike's arms, post Matthew, stolen opportunities to linger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: Various examples of when Cormoran's arms are exactly what Robin needs.Loosely inspired by a Tumblr post linked to Phryne Fisher which I saw posted by someone I follow - she was rescued from quicksand and ended up in the arms of the 'hero'......it made me think about how fixated I am with Strike hugging and holding Robin - from the first stair grab of her boob, to the arm around each other limp to the pub in Silkworm, and of course the stair hug in LW......here are some more.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 56
Kudos: 72





	1. It's not far, I promise.

“This is like something off Scooby-Doo!” Robin hissed as she and her somewhat encumbered work colleague squeezed their way through the security fence gap, which at ‘slightly too small’ for her was on the ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ side of inappropriate for Strike!  
Their leads had brought them to the deserted warehouses, and with any luck they would find something which would wrap up the case which had been stalled for a few weeks awaiting a new input of information.

Looking significantly more ruffled than usual, including having several cobwebs attached to his dark curls, Strike sniffed loudly and pushed aside a bent section of metal sheeting in order to allow Robin access to one of the buildings.

“With any luck we’ll sniff out something…..smart spot on that partial postcode on the paper by the way. Bloody hell!” Strike’s final statement coincided with entering the almost demolished building.

“Where do we start then?” Robin glanced around.  
The step ladder leading up to the mezzanine level – which had probably been a complete storey at one point – looked decidedly dodgy and completely incapable of supporting the weight of her colleague.  
Strike followed her gaze and winced as he guessed her thoughts, “You have a look up there and I’ll start down here…..just be careful!”

Robin stared at him open mouthed, “What do you take me for! I know how to not contaminate evidence!” she stated, forcefully.

Strike returned her glare with a curl-lipped smirk of his own, “I wasn’t implying that….I was more concerned about the fact that that,” he pointed at the partial floor above them, “should in theory be supported by more than that post! Just don’t go jumping about up there in excitement if you find something!”

Robin cast him a withering look before removing her cross body bag and grimacing up the rickety looking ladder.  
Most of the rungs looks intact, although a couple she would definitely avoid.

Strike had gone across to an ancient looking metal cabinet, the type usually found in garages and mechanics yards. He was tugging at drawers and attempting to open various sliding shutters on it, poking around inside with a determined pout on his face.  
She started the rather more perilous than she first thought ascent of the ladder.  
Her hand crumbled straight through a couple of the rungs, and a further couple became broken and beyond use after having her foot rest on them.  
The final few seemed to be the worst and as she managed to get her hands onto the dusty plaster of the ‘floor’ her right foot pushed firmly down, breaking through 3 more of the rungs and part of the actual side struts.  
What remained of the ladder fell backwards, shattering onto the floor as she stood staring down at it and Strike’s somewhat amused face.

“Looks like you’ll have to find a different way down!” he smirked at her.

It was an amazing skill of his; he could render the most alarming situation calm and inconsequential just through a few words and a grin!

“Be careful up there!” he shouted to her disappearing form and returned to his inspection of the cabinet.  
One of the drawers was locked shut, he could probably jiggle it or pick it open but he focussed his attention on the 4 drawer filing cabinet which was just off to one side. It was clearly open and had files inside by the looks of it.

As he became immersed in scrutinising names, dates and other details from the files he quite forgot about Robin, until a loud shriek together with what sounded like a bag of bricks being dumped on the floor interrupted him.  
He rushed across to where he could see the upper storey where Robin was.

“You OK up there?” he shouted, trying to keep the concern in his voice to a professional degree rather than the shamefully protective and passionate level he realised it had grown into.

A few moments later an incredibly ruffled and dusty looking Robin peered down over the edge of the partial floor.  
She was grinning despite whatever had caused the noise and her rapid change of appearance.  
“Found something!” she grinned widely and threw down a key which had clearly been attached to something or other with a piece of black gaffer tape.

Strike caught the missile and instantly moved to check it in the locked drawer, which of course it fitted perfectly.  
Again, he became instantly absorbed in rifling through the pile of documents, exactly what they had been needing to evidence the underhand syphoning off of money by one of the company partners.

He was dimly aware of Robin’s voice:  
“Cormoran!.....CORMORAAAAN!”

“What?” he appeared, “It’s what we need....key fits in that drawer….looks like exactly what we’ve been looking for!”

“Well, what I’m looking for right now is a way to get back down…..and there isn’t one. The fire door is blocked with sacks of concrete that have gone off…..I’m stuck!” she stated.

“Oh!....Right!” he sniffed and placed the pile of papers down on a handy discarded crate and moved closer to the upper story edge.  
He squinted as he peered up; too high for him to reach unless she wriggled and dropped…..she was already filthy though.

“Can you drop your legs over the edge?....No….on your tummy,” he instructed as Robin initially lowered herself to sit on the creaking ‘floor’, clouds of ancient plaster dislodged by her feet and backside.

“It doesn’t feel very sturdy,” she hissed, gripping her lower lip in her teeth as she rolled onto her front, her arms braced beneath her, the crease of her thighs meeting the edge of the partial floor.

Strike widened his stance and raised his arms above his head managing to grasp hold of her shins as they dangled.

“OK….I’ve got you….just drop down, it’s not far, I promise,” his voice reassured her, as did the feel of his large hands splayed against her ankles….now her knees….and now her hips and waist as she slithered and finally let go of the dusty concrete.

Strike tried to blot out the fact that her backside had just brushed past his cheek on her way down to safety….and the fact that his hands sliding up the length of her legs had felt incredibly erotic despite the amount of dust, plaster and old paint he was inhaling and spitting out.

Once her feet found the floor she twisted around, noticing that his hands remained encircling her waist for a moment - possibly a moment longer than necessary – before he released her and brushed all manner of crap from his dark curls.

“Thanks,” she gasped, realising that she was slightly out of breath and wanting to put it completely down to scrabbling off a first floor ledge rather than her proximity to her work colleague.

“S’alright,” he stated, a little gravelly and with a slight clearing of his throat; a combination that made Robin’s stomach perform a little flip.  
She cleared her own throat and dragged her fingers through her hair, dislodging some rather large pieces of paint and concrete, “Bookcase fell over up there…..key was taped to the back of it,” she explained.  
He nodded and strode back to the papers he’d deposited in order to assist her.

“Well, you done good, Ellacott….this lot’ll take some explaining….lying bastard!” he grumbled, indicating a couple of figures, signatures and dates on several of the papers.  
“Bloody hell!” Robin chimed, pouting her lips and grinning in a manner he had grown to associate with her ‘Go me!’ mood.

“Shall we get back to the office…or would you prefer to go home and…..change or shower or….both?” he tried hard to remove mental images of Robin removing her clothes and showering…he was partially successful.

“I think the latter option….I’m sure I’ve got plaster dust down my bra!” she giggled. 

Any hope of keeping his thoughts about the dusty amber haired woman walking beside him neutral now completely out of the none existent window!


	2. The oncoming cyclist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reminiscent of their first encounter on the stairs - Strike's instinct and big hands....hmmmmm.  
> This may well be my own personal little niche kink....but I do love men's hands and arms!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED AND REWRITTEN TO NOW HAVE THE EVENING CLASS NON POTTERY BASED.  
> I DO know everything about macaron making.....and don't anyone pronounce it as macaroon or I shall come out of isolation, hunt you down and slap you!!!

Robin and Strike were making their way back from a client meeting across on the other side of town. They’d not actually both needed to be there, but neither had been reluctant to say so as it had given them the opportunity of a pleasant afternoon together.  
Strike had been watching a new mark in a betting shop for the past 3 days, and Robin had been doing a one day training course before that, so this was actually the first time they had seen each other all week.

The business was going well; and they were getting on rather well too.

They’d achieved what Strike considered to be an almost impossible level of easy-going camaraderie between people of the opposite sex, although he still spent most evenings thinking about her…..despite those thoughts taking place in his lonely, attic flat.

Strike had been taking a bit more care of himself; resting his prosthesis, swimming every week, watching what he ate and even cutting down on the pints and fags (a bit!) and therefore a slightly extended amount of walking in Robin’s company, through the London streets was now an infinitely more enjoyable experience for him.

He smoked leisurely as they strode along, despite her smaller stature she always managed to match his strides – or was it that he had shortened his to match hers?  
Robin was telling him an amusing tale about her and Ilsa at the patisserie class they’d been attending for a couple of weeks.  
Her animated descriptions of Ilsa’s face as her piping bag erupted, splattering herself and the surrounding students and surfaces with vivid pink macaron mixture was keeping him engrossed as well as making the journey towards Denmark Street pass more quickly.

As they approached Soho the number of pedestrians increased and they had to vary their pace, although people tended to move out of the way as Strike approached rather than barge into him.  
Robin had reached the comedic climax of her tale – Ilsa displaying the two rather pathetic pink macarons she had managed to create from what remained of her piping bag rather than the pile of 12 which Robin and her other classmates had created – as they approached one of the larger roads which they needed to make their way across.  
She was glancing to check for traffic, as was Strike, when a group of foreign students amassed behind them attempting to cross.  
They were clearly unfamiliar with the road layout, therefore sensing a lull in vehicles several moved forwards, throwing Robin into the path of an oncoming bicycle courier who was on a mission.

Strike reached out instinctively, in a manner which reminded him of the very first encounter he’d had with the golden haired temp who had become such an amazing part of his life.  
He grasped her right arm powerfully as her left leg flailed through the air and made contact with some part of the bike paniers. The momentum spun her towards him and he engulfed her body fully as she fell against him – or did he pull her there?

The students appeared ignorant of their folly and crossed whilst Strike remained clutching Robin to his chest.  
Robin was panting hard.  
Strikes hands were swarming across her back, the feel of her navy peacoat familiar under his fingers.  
He told himself that they were moving over her body due to the need to still her and settle her back on the pavement; but in reality he couldn’t actually make them stop.

After what felt like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, Robin pulled away from him, although his arms continued to roam across her until they fell to rest, one hand firmly stabilising each shoulder.  
“You Ok?” he asked, peering down at her pink cheeks and slightly parted lips.

Robin managed to make her head nod…..she’d just inhaled an least 3 lungs full of pure eau de Cormoran….and what she now realised was that 3 was possibly one too many in terms of allowing her to focus her eyes and control her mouth.

“Robin?” he pressed her further, noticing that her breathing was still a little laboured.  
God, it had really shook her up! “Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea at the office….you’re shaking a bit.”

He maintained one hand on her shoulder as he turned her body in the direction of Denmark Street, guiding her along the pavement, her body slightly leaning against him, trembling and malleable under his comforting bulk.  
Robin felt like she’d been hit by a bolt of…..something.  
Maybe it was a bolt of common sense, maybe one of complete ridiculous stupidity….but walking beside Cormoran, his arm slung around her…..well, it just felt right.  
The rightest thing in the world.


	3. The stuff of fairytales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly different version of Robin falling into Cormoran's arms on a work related occasion.  
> When I wrote this I pictured Robin feeling like a princess being swept off her feet by a prince, like in a fairytale......but her 'prince' is wearing his overcoat and part way through a cigarette!

Robin was concentrating on trying to make the figures on an invoice make sense when her phone rang and she saw the name of her work colleague flash up.

“Ellacott? You busy? I need you.”  
His deep, resonant tones were as brusque and blunt as ever and she grinned inspite of his lack of niceties.

“Hi Robin, how’s things? Have you been run off your feet in the office whilst I stake out a set of lock up garages?” she quipped with the required level of amusement and mock seriousness to gain a snort of laughter from Strike down the phone.

“Yeah, yeah….whatever. Look, I need you, get yourself down here, you know where I am?”  
He hung up before Robin could say anymore, and based on his manner and tone she assumed his need was linked to the case he was working on.  
She therefore closed down the computer, grabbed her coat and paid a quick visit to the loo before making her way to Tottenham Court Road tube and towards the closest station to the rather dodgy set of lock up garages that Strike was staking out.

About 30 minutes after he’d hung up on her she spotted his hunched figure….mainly by the cloud of smoke swirling into the air around his head like a……well, like a smoke signal!  
He saw her and gestured for her to go over to him; his manner told her it wasn’t necessary to be covert.

“Hey! What’s up?” she asked as she ground out his cigarette with his heel.

“I need you to get up there and a see what’s behind those lock up doors,” he stated calmly.  
She glanced up at the sheer wall and quirked her eyebrows.

“Why exactly?” she asked.

Strike grinned his endearingly off-centred smirk. It was so typical of Robin to not immediately refuse but to ascertain the need first!

“Because, three vans with blacked out windows have gone in and each time they’ve closed the bloody doors so quickly I haven’t been able to see anything,” he stated, the frustration clear in his voice. He continued, “There are random voices, but I’ve no idea if any of ‘em belong to Bobble Hat…and from what I can gather these lock ups have a sort of sloping roof …..I reckoned you might be able to….”

Robin interrupted, “To what? Dangle over the edge? Fall down a sheer 10 foot drop onto concrete and explain myself to a bunch of dodgy probable gangsters?”

He saw the mild amusement and excitement behind her eyes and shrugged nonchalently, “Something like that!”

“Just remind me why this has to be me?” she asked as she removed her cross body bag, slotted her phone into her pocket in case she got the chance to take pictures and gazed her wrinkle nosed face up at the brickwork.

“It doesn’t HAVE to be….I just thought I’d find it significantly easier to give you a leg up than vice-versa!”  
There was something about his arched brow and green eyed twinkle that made her groan, although she quickly enhanced it to sound like one of displeasure rather than desire.

Strike planted his back against the wall, widened his stance fractionally and laced his fingers together, “Come on then,” he growled as she placed her hands firmly on the wet shoulders of his massive overcoat and slotted one of her damp,booted feet into his hands.  
She gave a small giggle.

“What?”

“Nothing, you just don’t look anything like the scrawny stable boy who used to help me mount Angus!” she laughed.

Strike coughed fractionally as he tried to contend with images of Robin dressed in jodhpurs and riding boots with the fact that her jeans zip was basically infront of his face.  
He gave a second heft of his hands upwards enough for Robin to get her left foot up onto the roof, and with an additional stretched, fingertip push for her weight to press against she was up.

He couldn’t actually see her once she’d taken a few steps, presumably up towards the sloping edge of the roof overlooking the yard.  
He’d have to go across the road if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to risk getting caught across there if she needed to get down in a hurry.  
He hadn’t actually given much thought to how she would get down.  
The last time they’d been in this predicament she’d wriggled and dropped, so there had only been a small airborne part to her descent.  
She may be more loathe to do that this time – the whole place was filthy, and wet through given the fact that it had only stopped raining a short while earlier.

It always felt like ages when he was waiting for Robin on a job.   
He’d passed several hours watching the place alone already, but these few minutes without sight of and waiting for the safe return of Robin felt like an age.

A couple of well built youths dressed in hi-vis jackets and grubby overalls were walking towards him, so he rummaged in his pockets and lit a cigarette which turned their slightly suspicious glances into instant acceptance….his reliance on nicotine often came in pretty handy!  
They disappeared and after a couple of calming drags his mind went back to Robin.   
She had unquestioningly agreed to being literally thrown up onto a roof, in order to spy on some basic thugs…she’d even made a joke of it.  
God he loved her!  
Shit!   
He needed to stop thinking about her in that way.   
She just enjoyed her job. That was all it was.   
That gleam in her eyes was just excitement……definitely.

“Psst!”

He peered up and noticed that Robin was slightly to the right of where he was.

“Got anythin’?”

“Yeah….pictures and a little bit of video,” she hissed down to him. “But it’s dead mucky and slippy up here. How am I gonna get down?”

“I hadn’t really planned for that….assumed you could drop.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Bugger that!” she glanced to each side of where she was teetering as if looking for a better option.  
After what appeared to be a fruitless search there was the sound of a van engine sparking to life, and a familiar creak and rattle of chain on metal told Strike that the gates were about to open.

“Oh shit!” she hissed, looking over her shoulder and wincing.

Strike moved quickly below her position and held out his arms, “Jump….I’ll catch you,” he instructed.  
With a second glance backwards Robin looked down and leap from the roof.

It wasn’t a huge distance to fall, and she landed easily in Strike’s arms, one beneath her bent knees, the other grasping perilously close to her right boob.  
The odd part of Strike’s brain that enjoyed such things noted that he’d technically now groped both!

Robin on the other hand couldn’t help but feel like a princess dropping into the arms of a prince….albeit one with a lit fag jammed in the side of his mouth!

Much as she would have rather liked to remain held in his powerfully masculine arms, her own hands having wrapped naturally around his neck, toying ever so slightly on purpose with the soft, warm hair at the back of his collar, she knew that realistically he needed to put her down so as not to draw attention to them when the van emerged.

“I should get my bag,” she stated, indicating the small, practical black bag which was discarded a few feet away where she’d initially alighted.

“ ‘Kay,” he nodded, his voice coming out more huskily than usual given that their faces were inches apart and the effect of her warm breath on his neck was causing a significant tsunami to his equilibrium.  
She noticed that he didn’t release her immediately, but instead carried her a couple of paces towards the handbag. 

Was it her imagination or was that splayed palm around her chest actually massaging her a little bit?   
And she could feel the definition of his biceps and muscular forearms under her calves even through layers of shirt, and sweater and overcoat, and jeans!

All too soon he released her legs and used the hand still under her arms to steady her to a standing position.  
“We should probably get out of here and you can show me what you’ve got,” he stated, back to his controlled, brusque manner again, although clearly not completely aware of the double entendre he’d emitted.  
Robin however giggled, pleased to have something to ease the sexual tension, which was quite frankly electric!

“Let’s start with the pictures and video shall we?” and she waggled her eyebrows as he tossed his burned out cigarette to the gutter.

“Deal…..and you’re buying the first round,” he indicated the pub at the bottom of the street.

“I am?” she shrieked, “Why me? I’ve just been up on a bloody roof!”

“And I’ve just caught you as you fell off said roof…..I rescued you….least you can do is buy me a pint!” he smiled. His eyes went all crinkled at the sides when he smiled at Robin.  
Robin liked his crinkle eyed smiles.  
Was it her imagination or were they appearing more often?  
She mustn’t think of him in that way…..he didn’t think of her as anything more than a colleague.   
Someone he could lob up on a roof to get evidence.

However she caught him looking at her in the large window of an empty shop front as they walked towards the pub…and that smile was still there.  
Leaping off a garage roof had pumped up her adrenaline, so rather than look away she met his eyes in the reflection and smiled back.  
It was a smile he’d rarely seen directed at him and part of him was glad when the glass turned into a concrete wall.

That was definitely not a work Robin smile.  
That was a 3 glasses of wine in the Tottenham smile….and she hadn’t had ANY wine yet.

They reached the pub and he held the door for her shaking his head as she unzipped her bag for her purse.  
“I’m buying….pint of that and a large white wine,” he gestured towards the barman.  
“LARGE?!” Robin eyed him, this time mischievously, “Me and large wine doesn’t always end well!”

“Maybe…..I think it’ll be OK this time, and if it’s not we now know I can carry you home if needed!” and he took a massive gulp from his pint, licking the foam from his moustache with relish.  
Robin took her wine and forced herself not to vocalise her immediate thought of.....Anytime you bloody well like!


	4. A bit of furniture wrangling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one ran away with me a bit!  
> Moving furniture - Strike's brute force and powerful arms to the rescue, and his height and reach also comes into play.  
> This chapter starts to drill down into those developing feelings.  
> I suppose I haven't actually given these a specific timescale between them....but I am imagining a short space of time - maybe a few weeks, a couple of months, between each one.

It was an unusual, but not unpleasant way to spend his Saturday afternoon.  
More time with Robin was always good….and she’d offered to buy take away to reward him for his efforts helping her to move the sofa she was having delivered.  
It was a bit last minute, but he didn’t mind….he had nothing more urgent to do; had already showered and done his laundry, so his day was free.

Her text at around 2 o'clock had made his heart do a small flip in his chest, and he’d called her back rather than tap out a response.

C: ‘Ello…..the bastards!

R : I KNOW! Fucking small print, ‘delivery is to ground floor properties only unless by prior arrangement’……that must rule out most properties they deliver to in London full stop!

C : So where is it now? Is it blocking anything? Will it get wet if it rains?

R ; No, it’s fine, just here in the foyer. I’ve stuck a note on it so anyone knows it’s mine and I think Mrs Khan can get her walker past it.

He’d told her he was on his way, although he did pause and run a little of his after shave across his beard before locking his flat and making his way to Earl’s Court.

Robin waited as patiently as she could; although she did give the rest of her flat a quick whizz around tidy up – she removed the fuzzy strips containing her home bikini wax from the bathroom bin, bundled up the used tissues from the side of her bed and the chair in her lounge area (the result of Steel Magnolias with ice cream the previous night!) and she’d given her appearance a bit of a check.  
The slightly faded grey leggings and hoodie had been swapped for a set of patterned yoga pants and matching bra top with a slouchy electric blue top which clung to her hips in rippled gathers and slouched off her shoulders in that ‘I’m casual and confident’ manner of an online fashion blogger.  
She hadn’t bothered with her usual work level of minimum make-up – that would be too obvious – but she had slathered on a little of her tinted moisturiser, a coat of mascara and some lip balm, as well as a squirt of her perfume.

She’d asked Cormoran whether she should ask Nick to help too, but he’d told her that he was working – Strike had been having a drink and a catch up with him the night before – so before she knew what she was doing she’d offered to treat him to take away as a thank you.  
That would mean having him hang around in her flat for a while…..and if she nipped out now and stocked up on beer for him maybe she could persuade him to linger for the evening……his masculine aroma could pervade her flat…..that might keep her going for a while.

Jesus she was horny!

She hadn’t realised how much she enjoyed male company until she was living alone and not dating successfully…..which had been for the past 8 months or so.  
And Cormoran’s powerful arms engulfing her when she’d jumped from the roof of the lock up garage a few weeks ago was still engrained into her memory.

She threw on trainers and jogged down to the mini Tesco to pick up some Doom Bars, a large tub of Rocky Road bites and fresh milk for tea……it was almost a 3 step route directly to Corm’s heart!   
She shook away her own ridiculousness as she unpacked the items and folded up her jute bag.  
“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,” she told herself as she kicked off her trainers and added a pair of cute, polka dot covered trainer socks to her ensemble.

Strike buzzed the downstairs door to Robin’s flat approximately 45minutes after calling her.  
He could see Robin’s sofa propped up and the crudely written note she’d stuck on it, he couldn’t help but smile at her little smiley face drawn next to the message.  
Robin’s voice through the intercom jolted him slightly,

“It’s me.”

“OK, stay down there, I’ll come down and you can tell me your plan.”

He made his way through into the foyer area mumbling slightly about how the hell he was supposed to come up with an instant plan for moving a 2 seater up into a third storey flat, but his grumbling ceased as soon as Robin hove into view.

How could she look so natural and beautiful, and slouchy and cute….and completely kissable?

She crossed her ankles and leaned against the back edge of her new piece of furniture.  
“So? Come on Brains….how are we doing this?”  
He arched his brow at her ridiculously seductive pout,

“Brute force and a bit of patience….it usually works!” he wandered over to the lift and pressed the door release before making his way back to Robin and the plastic wrapped sofa.  
“Right, I reckon the sofa will definitely fit in, but I won’t as well. So, I’ll shove it in, then we send it up and I’ll meet you at your floor. Just keep your finger on the door button and I’ll pull it out."

Robin shook her head to remove the mental images she was struggling with as he used the phrases ‘shove it in’ and ‘pull it out’…..if he started mentioning jiggling anything she might lose it completely!

The polished tiles in the lobby were a bonus in this situation and Strike was quite easily pushing the piece of furniture across to the lift.  
Robin paused a moment to watch his shoulders flex under his shirt – his large overcoat having been unceremoniously dumped on the floor.  
The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up as always to his elbows, and the musculature of his lower arms as well as his swarthy, splayed hands made her stifle a slight whimper as he growled and turned the item sideways to have a better chance of fitting it in the small two person lift.

“I’ll go up and get ready when the lift arrives,” and she leapt up the stairs, two at a time hoping that this could give her a logical explanation for her panting heart rate and pink cheeks.  
Strike gave the sofa one grunting heave which settled it into the lift and managed to reach past it to press the 3rd floor button. He then swiped up his coat and began to climb the stairs at his own, slower and steadier pace; using the hand rail to help haul himself up.

Robin was grinning at the landing of her floor, her hand stretching into the lift to keep the door open.  
The door to her bijoux flat was wide open.  
“I know it’ll fit through the door – I measured it,” she stated.  
Strike smirked, ‘course she did!

“OK, can you budge over a bit so I can grab hold and yank?”

Was he doing this on purpose?   
These double entendres couldn’t be accidental!   
I mean…..grab hold and yank!!!   
Was he trying to kill her?  
She however managed to tilt herself slightly out of his way, but felt the warmth of his arm as it grazed past her back in order to clasp around the back section of her sofa.

Strike’s eyes were drawn to the view of her arse in her yoga pants….he knew he shouldn’t be looking, but she’d tilted her back to him and was on tip toes, making her backside even more pert and biteable than usual, especially as the seam of her yoga pants had done that disappearing between thing, giving him an alluring outline of each perfectly rounded cheek.

“OK,” he balanced the weight and planted his prosthetic foot against the side of the lift for additional tension and gave a loud grunt of success as the thing slid mainly out of the lift with one hefty tug. He was then able to wriggle it the last few inches or so to get it free.  
“OK, you can let the doors go now, it’s out.”

He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and sniffed before placing himself behind the sofa, bending his full limb and pushing it into her flat.  
It was Robin’s turn to be treated to the full, and rather delectable back view of Strike, his jeans pulled tight across what she had grown to appreciate as has small, and pretty decent arse.  
It may be a topic on which she had spent rather too long contemplating recently!

“Where is it going?”  
His deep, rumbling baritone dragged her back to the present and she skidded to a halt on her wooden floor.

“Just here really….I’m moving the chair sideways, like that….then the sofa is pointing at the telly,” she indicated and he nodded along.

“Good….means I won’t have to feel guilty about you sitting on cushions on the floor when I’m over,” he smiled, maintaining his gaze on hers for a teasing moment before she broke the contact.

“Well, we can both sit in comfort now! Do you fancy a tea….or a beer?” she asked.

“We’ve gotta unwrap the bugger yet!” he stated, grimacing and locating the edge of the cling wrap plastic and tugging it free.  
Robin took hold and began to bundle up the tacky plastic whilst moving around the upturned piece of furniture.  
She handed the bundle to Strike when it reached his side and so this continued , for what felt like a ridiculous length of time with the deep aubergine colour of the sofa being gradually revealed.  
As they neared the end of the unwrapping process the ragged ‘snowball’ of bunched up plastic became more and more unwieldy, and the transfer process involved a lot more hand and finger grazes.  
They laughed together and eventually Robin exclaimed, “Oh bugger this! Step back a bit,” she then proceeded to run around and around the almost ‘naked’ sofa, peeling off the last of the plastic and receiving a hearty shout of triumph and round of applause from Strike as the last section came free.  
She gave a rather dizzy curtsey before tossing the bundle of plastic across the room.

“Can you help me tip it up?”

Strike nodded and went to the end which would require the most lowering, she held the other section and with a further bit of grappling it was placed in situ, with Robin giving the seat and back cushions a quick plump up before flopping down on it with a delighted grin.  
“Try it!” she encouraged, “It’s dead comfy.”  
Strike eyed the cosy two seater, and what remained of the space given that Robin was splayed on it.   
She shifted slightly over as he lowered himself with a sigh of contentment.

“And no farts! Good choice, Ellacott.”

They were sitting very close, side-by-side, most of his side was in contact with the soft curves of Robin and he could smell her subtle, floral scent as well as the vanilla and cherry aroma of her hair.  
He was suddenly aware that he, however, was sweating a bit, and his forehead and the nape of his neck felt wet.  
He cleared his throat, “I’ll have that beer now if it’s still on offer.”

Robin had been slightly side-tracked by the amazing warmth and masculine, musky scent emanating from her work colleague as his body took up the rest of the space on her sofa so gloriously, but swung herself upright.  
“Good idea….I might join you – I’m sure it’s 5 o’clock somewhere!”

“Five o’clock rule doesn’t count on weekends,” he growled, wriggling himself more comfy on what he had to admit was one damn comfy sofa!

“Stick the telly on,” she shouted through as she opened a bottle of wine for herself and popped the lid on a beer for him, swiping up a bag of coconut flavoured popcorn and carrying it in her teeth.  
He was flipping through channels with the remote when she reappeared.   
He accepted the beer and was taking a drag as she moved towards the other chair.  
He affected an expression of mock chagrin as he swallowed,  
“Erm…..I don’t think so…this is a sofa testing TV marathon….you need to be here,” and he patted the cushion which was mostly available next to him having made himself comfy. “Especially as I have found a classic.”  
The opening credits to ‘The Philadelphia Story’ made their way across the screen.

“Oh….Katharine Hepburn….I love this film!” and she hitched her knees up to curl against Cormoran as he extended the arm holding his beer against the back of the sofa to give her additional room.  
Robin gave what he considered to be an almost erotic sigh as she wriggled herself more comfortable and they passed the next hour and 52 minutes comfortably side-by-side, taking it in turns to grab more drinks, and delving their hands into the bag of popcorn….occasionally at the same time, resulting in giggling apologies and on one occasion just a finger fight for the final popped kernels…..which Cormoran won by blocking Robin’s smaller hand – although he did pop one of the two remaining pieced he’d secured into her mouth.

It was beautiful torture….and neither wanted the film to end….although of course it did!

Robin glanced at the wall clock.  
“Right then….what take away are we having?”

Strike gave a little, happy grunt beside her, “Whatever you want….I’ll eat anything, you know me!”

“OK, vegetarian bacon on lettuce and raw carrot it is then!” she giggled and blushed as he pierced her with a James Bond-esque arched eyebrow stare.

“Watch it, Ellacott! This muscle tone that you were in need of to shift this thing is the result of a very carefully worked out diet plan! Anyway, may hands are sticky with popcorn….Can I hang my head out the kitchen window and have a fag?”

She nodded and pursed her lips, “While you’re in the bathroom can you reach the extractor fan thing? It’s filthy.”  
He nodded as he reluctantly left the next they had created on the sofa, Robin smiled as she realised there was a Cormoran shaped dip in the seat cushion where he’d been sat and resisted the temptation to run her hand over the place where his backside had been positioned for the past couple of hours.

In the small bathroom Strike pee’d and washed his hands before effortlessly reaching up to twist out the dust covered extractor fan cover.  
“Where d’you want it?”

Robin jolted around at his request and felt a blush cross her cheeks, not unnoticed by Strike judging by that little smirk on his lips.

“Erm….just in the washing up bowl. It’s been minging and annoying me since I moved in.”  
He wordlessly went back to the bathroom to wash his hands again and reappeared as Robin was hunched over the counter top, one of her cutely socked feet resting on her other foot and looking so naturally relaxed and beautiful he had to take a breath.

“I’m thinking Chinese…that OK?” she suggested, affecting a slight double take at the depth and intensity of his green eyed gaze on her.  
He gathered his thoughts as he replied and they worked out a suitable selection of items to order.

Robin gathered crockery and cutlery from her kitchen cabinets and after smoking with his head poking out of the window Strike made himself useful opening her little folding table which was a good size for 2 although they’d managed to cram Nick and Ilsa around it on a previous occasion!  
There was an easy domesticity between them that mimicked their office routine and not for the first time Cormoran considered that possibly having more than a work based relationship with Robin wouldn’t be such a ridiculous idea.  
Robin had flicked on a generic playlist featuring some of their shared and individual music tastes, which they’d created over numerous journeys in the Land Rover. He smiled as she swayed in time with one of the songs he’d chosen, and which she’d originally considered ‘Old Man Music.’

He returned to the sofa after setting out the table and flicked the TV remote searching for something suitable, although the football results programme caught his eye.  
Robin giggled as he reluctantly changed the channel.  
“You can have the footie on if you want….there’s sod all else on at this time!”

She busied herself putting away a pile of clean underwear which she’d had on her bed; vaguely aware that Cormoran would have walked past it on the way to the bathroom…..he’d have seen the white lace bra and matching knickers on the top of the pile….thank God it was those ones and not the plain skintone, practical ones underneath!  
When she came back through after visiting the loo herself and washing her hands she scrubbed the extractor fan vent clean and left it to drain – she’d make use of Cormoran’s height and long arms to replace it later!

Strike heard the buzzer for the door and moved without asking Robin first, to speak into the little handset and allow entry to their food.  
Robin sighed a little.   
Why was all of this; Cormoran in her space; Cormoran and her sat curled up on the sofa, or knee to knee at her little table; why was it all so unscary and ……nice?

Several hours later Strike couldn’t realistically drag the evening out any longer.   
They’d long since finished the wine and beers, had enough Chinese food to feed about 4 people – although Strike had put away about 3 of those people’s worth! They’d had a few mugs of tea – he’d made one and felt ridiculously comfortable searching through her cupboards and drawers for the necessary items as she removed her make up (necessary after a particularly amusing edition of You’ve Been Framed which had made them both cry with laughter, making Robin’s eyes sting with smudged mascara!)

Somehow that single act of rubbing cotton wool and cleanser across her face changed the atmosphere, and suddenly Strike knew that if he didn’t leave he’d do something he might regret.  
Robin without a ‘mask’, albeit a very subtle and minimal one, of make-up; with her hair fastened up in a springy clip was all of a sudden a different being.  
Everything felt more intimate.  
The comfortable team work and cosiness now had a level of charged electricity….or sexual tension…..layered across it.

“I should get going,” he suggested, although every fibre in his body wanted to remain sharing Robin’s space.  
Robin sensed the charged tension between them too – she quite liked it…….it implied something…..something like hope.

“Thanks for today…..for helping with this,” and she ran her palm across the upholstery of the sofa.  
He gathered up and began to put on his coat, offering to dump the empty take out rubbish in the bin on his way rather than stink out the flat.

“Before you go….” Robin breathed.  
He flashed her a glance with a flicker of…..something, behind his eyes.

“What?” he whispered, huskily.  
She reached across and picked up the dried vent, “Can I make use of your long arms again?”  
He grinned, one of those crinkle eyed soft smiles that almost revealed his true feelings, “Anytime.”


	5. I'll stay right here then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part of these rambles all linked to Cormoran's gloriously sexy arms and hands.  
> I like how this one ended.

Robin had been out of sorts all day.  
Strike noticed these things.  
He noticed a lot when it came to Robin.  
He noticed the way her lips became a deeper shade of kissable crimson after she drank a fresh mug of tea.  
He noticed that she favoured leaning on her right leg when she was stood at the kitchen counter tops, her left knee would always be bent, resting the toe of her show on the floor.  
He noticed that she was incredibly beautiful; especially when she flipped that curtain of honey-gold hair to one side and fixed him with her increasingly confident stare.  
And he'd noticed that she'd been looking at him a bit more - he knew that because he'd been looking at her a lot more for ages, and he'd realised that over the past few months he'd actually caught her gaze when he'd flicked his eyes across to her.

In the early days she'd hastily glanced away, usually blushing in the most ridiculously hopeful manner in terms of Strike's equilibrium. But over the last couple of weeks she'd occasionally not looked away....she'd met his gaze and a couple of times flicked him a small smile of recognition.

However, today had been completely different.

She'd arrived in the office late - Robin was NEVER late!

He'd been disappointed to find that she had not come in to bring him is now expected take out coffee, and she hadn't even shouted 'Morning!' to him.  
When he'd ambled out from his office a short while later he'd found her facing away from him on her desk chair, shoulders hunched and even from the back looking dejected.

He quickly flicked through his mental roll-a-desk - it wasn't her birthday, it wasn't a particular Matthew related anniversary as far as he was aware, it wasn't even linked to her menstrual cycle!

"You OK?"   
Concern for her well being as a colleague was at the forefront of his mind, but he was also ridiculously protective about her as 'his Robin.'

"I'm fine."  
Although the manner of her tone and body language suggested anything but.   
Her face when she twisted to face her computer was set rigidly and her usually creamy complexion was a bit blotchy, especially around her eyes.  
Something had upset her.

Strike's masculine pride kicked up a gear instantly.  
Who or what had made her unhappy?  
He needed to find out....and destroy whatever it was if possible.

He remained observing her and she tutted, knowing that he was expecting her to 'break'.

"I just didn't sleep very well. I'll be fine.....let me get on with this and give me some space, OK?"

"OK.....no problem."  
Strike spent the day giving Robin as much space as was possible considering the fact that their offices joined, they shared a toilet and kitchen and she had most of the details of cases and client contact numbers he needed.

Each request for information relating to cases was met with an efficient response, but no eye contact, no conversation and no shared moments of the camaraderie which had made his days so much more fulfilling since Robin entered them.

At about 4pm she appeared at his office door rather sheepishly.  
"Do you mind if I get off? I'm not feeling on my best form."

"I noticed...you sure you don't need anything?"

She rolled her eyes and bit her lip before answering.  
"I'll be OK....I just.....sorry, it's nothing to do with you."

Strike gave her his full attention from behind the desk, instinctively feeling that the space between them was what she needed.  
"It doesn't matter if it IS to do with me.....just as long as you're OK. Promise me you're OK."

She gave a deep breath.  
"It's just something new that's happened......I need to get used to it and right now, or rather last night, I definitely wasn't used to it....and I really didn't sleep well. So....just bear with me."  
He nodded, his eyes betraying the overwhelming need to engulf her in his arms and kiss away any fears or worries she had if she had been able to lift her own to see.

She left the offices and as usual Strike was left with a profound sense of loss.  
On most days however he could reminisce about some amusing anecdote of the day, or picture her wrinkle nosed grin, or the way her finger had grazed his hand when she'd handed him a mug of tea.

She hadn't made him any tea today.  
That was just so un-Robinlike.

He finished up his own work and clocked off early himself, making his way up to his attic flat just before 5.  
Not being able to shake off Robin's behaviour he texted Ilsa to ask whether Robin had confided in her - not to pry or ask her to divulge anything if Robin preferred not - but just to find out if Robin had someone she could talk to.  
It had sounded like she needed someone to talk to.  
Ilsa messaged back with a blank - she hadn't spoken to Robin in a couple of days, did Corm want her to ring her?  
He'd emphatically asked her not to and to stay quiet, but to message him if she contacted her for a chat, or more importantly to listen to her and be available if she asked for her.  
Ilsa said she would.

After a few too many cigarettes in his flat, and having pulled his nose up at the selection of meal choices he had available in his fridge he decided that a couple of pints and some pub grub was required.  
He hefted himself towards the Tottenham, but felt odd going there without Robin these days, so ventured slightly further afield.   
There was a particularly good place that had decent beers and did a cracking steak pie towards Old Brompton Road....he had the evening to fill and he didn't want to dwell on Robin, so the tube journey and ambling paced walk would occupy his mind.

He grabbed a pint and placed his order at the bar before locating a small table, tucked away perfectly for his preference.  
The place was a great, proper old fashioned pub, although at this time on a Friday night it was often occupied by loud 'City types' slugging G&Ts and talking over each other.  
He puffed out his cheeks, safe in the knowledge that pie, chips and what he knew to be excellent onion gravy was on the way.

He was scrolling through his phone, catching up on world news via the BBC news app when a high pitched voice rung out, and he winced with the familiarity of the sound.  
"I knooooowwwww....it's early days, but yah......I know. So pleased!"

Sarah Fucking Shadlock.

He had begun to add the additional 'middle name' whenever he referred to her.  
Robin and Matthew's marriage had ended; the moron had chosen Sarah over Robin, and they'd been together as a couple for about 6 months now.  
He continued pretending to scroll on his phone whilst unable to prevent hearing the entirety of Sarah's conversation.

"I'm hoping to keep working as long as possible. Although I'm not sure whether I'll be able to fit behind the lectern...I'm already so huuuuuge!"

Strike glanced sideways and saw that she was encircling her hands across her slightly rounded belly and cooing to the surrounding group.  
Matthew appeared by her side with a lager, handing her an orange juice.   
He had what appeared to Strike to be a fake and forced grin on his face as Sarah dragged his hand across her own, patting it to ensure it remained in situ.

It took less than two seconds for everything to click into place in Strike's head and he downed a gulp of his pint as he prepared to leave.  
As he was making his way towards the door the barman who had taken his order appeared with a steaming plate of delicious smelling food, but he shook his head.  
"Sorry...I've got an emergency....give it to 'im if he wants it."  
Strike indicated an elderly, shabbily dressed old man on a corner table who was nursing a half pint of bitter.

Unnoticed by Matthew or Sarah he left the pub and made his way towards the tube for Earl's Court.  
He was outside Robin's flat in less than twenty minutes.  
She'd given him a key "for an emergency" and he used it for the first time now to let himself into the downstairs door.  
Her flat was on the 3rd floor, and one of the many things he was jealous of was that the block contained a lift....which worked!

He hesitated outside her door, he could hear nothing from inside - no TV, no music, no movement, so he knocked softly.  
"Robin? It's me.....I'm here."

Seconds later he heard the chain being removed and the door opened.

Robin was wearing fleecy pyjama bottoms and a hugely oversized sweater.  
She didn't make eye contact with him, and her hair hung across her face, but he could tell she was either crying, or had only recently stopped.

"I know about Sarah....and the baby. Come 'ere."  
Robin fell into the comforting warmth of his broad chest, inhaling his smoky, spicy scent and allowing his powerful arms to wrap around her, holding her shaking shoulders against him as he manoeuvred them both through the doorway.

He said nothing except to repeatedly 'Shhhhh' her and reassure her that 'it's ok' as she sobbed into him for what felt like a good 15 minutes.  
When her wracking, heartfelt cries had subsided into juddery, hiccoughing sniffs she pulled back from him a little.

"I'm not...... crying...... because I wanted.....his babies......I'm glad I didn't.....but......it's heeeerrrrrr."  
Strike engulfed her once more and allowed the fresh tears to fall, massaging soothing circles into her back, stroking her silky hair and trying to portray to her how much she was respected and valued....and loved.

Eventually she began to take some deeper, calming breaths and again pulled away from him, swiping her long cuff across her face and sniffing up an alarming amount of snot.

"Is this what it was today?"

She nodded sadly.  
"Mum texted me last night. Matt told his dad.....she thought I knew...."

Strike mentally considered the logic of Linda....why the hell would Robin know?   
He forgot how Masham was so much smaller and intimate...everyone aware of everyone's business. He sighed considering that one of the many benefits of life in London - you could sometimes be invisible.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't remove his arms from around her either. Instead he gently encouraged her across to the sofa he'd help wrangle into position in her flat...that had been a fun day.   
Why was moving a sofa so special and precious a memory?   
Obviously it was simply because it had been precious and special time spent with Robin.

He sat first and she followed, naturally slumping sideways and allowing him to capture her in his arms, nestling her knees against his thigh and partially against the cuff of his prosthesis.

"You wanna talk?" 

She sniffed and shook her head, "No."  
Her response was soft and felt worn out.

"You want me to go?"

This time her response was more confident, and her hands clutched at his shirt to reinforce her emphatic and almost pleading, "NO."

He couldn't prevent himself from smiling as her hand managed to grab a few of his chest hairs, painfully, as she held onto him.  
"OK....I'll stay right here then.....for as long as you need."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK.....so I have decided to write and post a sneaky 'extra arm'......I'm posting it under a similar name, but with a very different type of rating!!!!  
> So if that is not your bag, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed this.  
> If however you are in need of some shameless smut and deliciousness be patient while I finish it! Hopefully post it tomorrow.


End file.
